Feathered Sisters

The caged bird sings because she knows she is being heard. It is a strange thing to sing because you have to. She doesn’t know words that could move her own spirit. Her free sister, on the other hand, sings  because she has a song she wishes to fly on wings as real as her own. She knows the sound of her own voice and it is strong and has a whisper of something more than reality that her caged sister shall never know.

You have to fly to know what it feels like to fall. That is the nature of things. You can only know what you learn and the caged bird cannot learn to fly. Perhaps she can, but to soar and trust in her wings? That, she lacks the spirit to accomplish. Its not her fault. She’s known the gilded bars her existence and longer. Part of her wants to know what lies beyond her cold, priceless barriers but if she acknowledges the world beyond her bars; she will have to acknowledge that she has not been alive. Crooning for others isn’t a healthy existence when you know you can croon for yourself.

I would live for you to meet these two different but no less than ordinary sisters. Their names shall not be spoken, for you would have met them and then forgotten till a time you were reminded of a sister that sang and another that flew.

I shall seat them side by side. Caged and free and you shall see that both have a beauty the other will never know. The caged bird is preened; well- fed and has a gloss that any creature could envy. Her free sister? Has a less than shiny gloss and bruises and scars adorn her less then beautiful coat, but look closer still and you shall see that while the caged bird has a gloss of the Gods and her free sister the sheen of drudge, beneath her feathers are wings that hold weight none other can bear. Her legs are strong and with every move you see that there is a purpose to everything. She doesn’t waste what does not deserve to be wasted. Her caged sister? She has wings that cant even carry her less than portly self and her thighs are flax from swinging on a less than exuberating branch that smells nothing like a real tree should. However, she doesn’t know any better and that is how she shall always be or at least till she realizes that she has a choice she can make.

I’ll ask you to stare some more, not at the plumages which are more than obvious but at something more and yet less besides. Look at their eyes. Not in a pretentious ‘windows to the soul’ and that melodramatic nonsense but just look and let whatever is in them burst through. It wont take long to see that the caged bird has no light within, no luminous flame shall show you a path that leads you to believe her soul could move for anything. Her free sister? I’d advise you don’t look too long for the shine would burn you in ways only a living creature can. They shall grab you and hold you in and if you are human you will want to hold that and keep it but the truth is you couldn’t hold that kind of spirit for it would tear you from yourself. You would drown in things less than what you breathe and more than what you feel.

This story isn’t really mine to tell, or perhaps it is? For it takes a prisoner to know that gold shall never make one feel more than they are. You will always be who you allow yourself to become. My free sister and I were born in the very same cage but one day she chose to fly free, before our wings knew any better she grazed her coat then and laid the foundation for a collection of less than unsightly marks. And there are plenty to be sure. But while my plumage shows a clear gloss, its also the very first evidence that I have not lived. Because the truth, yet again, my dears, is you cannot fly unless you know how to fall.